


A little piece of heaven

by Mina_Chama



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Monsters, Angst, Brain Damage, Emotional Manipulation, Feelings, Fluff, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Beta Read, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:27:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22464091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mina_Chama/pseuds/Mina_Chama
Summary: Dean Winchester gets into a scuffle with his dad, and gets a bit too hurt. Left alone in an alley, he's found by doctor Castiel Novak, who saves his life.The beating has however left unseen damage, and Dean has to learn how to live with a brain that doesn't cooperate with him, but with the help of Castiel he might be able to work through that, and finally be saved from care of his father.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	1. Before the story begins

A fist connects with his face, knocking him back against the brick wall. His mouth takes on a coppery tinge, and he can’t quite tell if he’s bleeding, or if it’s just the head trauma. In a moment, it doesn’t matter though. That same fist connects with his nose. Now everything tastes of blood. Getting his arms between himself and the assailant does nothing, only providing new targets. The hits rain over his upper body until one connects with his temple. He can feel himself falling, no part of his body responding fast enough to do anything about it.

He barely puts his hands down in time to stop his head from hitting the ground. There’s an ominous cracking noise, but the pain is lost in the sea of it he’s already drowning in. Trying to get up helps nothing, as he barely gets an inch off the ground before a boot connects with his ribs, toppling him back down.

Now downed, and still dizzy from the hits to the head, there’s nothing he can do but curl in on himself and hope it ends soon. There are kicks everywhere, and he’s too out of it to count, but it feels like there are too many feet for just the one person hitting him. It ends, but he has no idea how ling it’s been. It takes a minute of not getting hit before he realizes that he’s been left alone, and more time than that to shift himself enough to see what’s happening.

There’s someone standing at the mouth of the alley. His vision is blurry and darkening at the edges, but even like this he can see the way they’re framed by a halo of sunlight. They’re almost glowing, and they are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“-an?” they say. Their voice is low and sonorous. _Hey, that that sounds like my name_ , he thinks, and squints against the sun. They approach, and suddenly he’s looking up at the face of an Angel. “Are you okay?” There’s a rushing in his head, and everything but the face of the man above him seems unnecessary, but Dean manages to get out some form of an affirmative noise. _Why is an angel here? Am I dying?_

A hand touches his cheek, and he almost flinches from it, but the pain brought about by even that small movement is like shrapnel in his head. The angel shushes him and moves his hand to the back of Deans head. He’s sure it should hurt more than it does, but everything’s starting to feel floaty.

His face crinkles in displeasure at what he finds. “I’m going to need to call an ambulance,” the angel says, reaching towards his coat pocket. It sends a sharp spike of panic through his hazy thoughts. _I can’t afford that!_ ”No- don- Don’t.” The man’s hand is stopped halfway, Deans hand around his wrist. “Please.” He looks up at him, and the mans face seems to soften a bit. “Ok, no ambulance,” he says, carefully loosening Deans hand from his wrist. His eyes scan down the mangled body of the boy before him “You do need medical attention though,” he mutters.

“No hospital,” Dean gets out. It feels important to say, but he can’t remember why at the moment.

“I can help you.” The angel carefully cards his fingers through the blood matted hair of the boy. “You need to go to the hospital,” he says softly.

He can barely think, everything’s blurry, and the hand in his hair is close to putting him to sleep. He still manages to get out a vaguely dissenting noise and the angel seems to be resigning himself to something.

“I’m a doctor. You’re losing too much blood to stay here, but I can help you if you let me.” He rummages through his coat pockets and pulls out an ID from the state hospital. _Castiel Novak, MD._ “Why?” it’s weak but demanding. _No one just picks up a stranger like that without expecting something back._

The man’s face is almost sad as he tucks his ID away. “I can’t just leave you here to die, can I?” his hand returns to Deans hair. “Let me help you.”

Dean doesn’t trust him, but he can already feel that he wouldn’t be able to make it home by himself.

The man’s hand rubs against Deans hair as he nods, and suddenly that’s that.

There are strong arms wrapping around him, lifting him up. Vertigo makes his head spin, and he’s suddenly staring at the wall behind him instead of the man above him. _Where are we going?_ He wants to look around, but moving his head seems an impossible task.

He’s put down on something soft a short while later and can hear doors slamming shut. The rev of an engine shakes what he’s lying on. Dean’s already fuzzy mind started to fade, and before he knew it, he’s asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunday, 22:36

_“Hey Dean, it’s Sam. You missed dinner… don’t worry though, I’m leaving a plate for you in the fridge. Also, dad’s been drinking. I don’t know what got him started, but he’s worse than usual, so please be careful when you get home. I’ll go to bed now, but see you tomorrow. Love you, bye.”_

*Beep*

Monday, 07:23

_“Hey Dean. It’s Sam again. You didn’t come back home yesterday. Please tell me I you’re going to stay out. Dad’s gotten worse; he’s started screaming again. I’m eating at Jess’s today, so don’t worry about me. Have a good day at work. Love you, bye.”_

*Beep*

Monday, 09:20

_“Hey kid, it’s Bobby. You’re late to work. It’s fine as long as it’s just this once, but don’t make a habit of it. The Corolla you’re working on needs to be done soon, and no one understands what you’ve done to the thing. Come in as soon as you can, and call me if you’re going to be late again.”_

*Beep*

Monday, 09:41

_“Dean? Bobby just called, he said you’re late to work. That isn’t like you. Are you okay? I’m getting worried about you. Please call back.”_

*Beep*

Monday, 13:56

_“Kid? Are you okay? Sam said that you didn’t come back yesterday. If you’re skipping a day because you’ve got a hangover you’re in serious trouble. If you’re sick you need to call ahead. But seriously, kid, is something up? You know I’ll help you if you get into trouble. Please call me so I know you’re okay.”_

*Beep*

Monday, 18:13

_“Hey Dean, Bobby called again. You didn’t show up at work at all? Has something happened? Jess got sick, so I’m going to have to go home now. Please call me as soon as you can, Dean, I’m worried about you.”_

*Beep*

Monday, 23:57

_“Dean… *sob* wh- where are you? I told dad you were missing and he just said ‘good riddance’. Did he- did he do something to make you go away? Whatever he did, leaving isn’t worth it! I need you here. Please come back Dean.”_

*Beep*

Tuesday, 12:36

_“Dean. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It’s fine if you need to leave, just please tell me what’s going on. I’ll stop calling. Call me back if you want to. Love you. Bye.”_

*Beep*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be uploading one chapter per week for the foreseeable future, with every chapter being one scene. This is because I have no idea what pace I can actually write, so I'm planning it slower than I probably need it to be.


	3. Chapter 3

Waking up is a familiar experience.

His head hurts, and he can’t remember how he got where he is.

There’s a throbbing pain all over his body and he’s in a bed too soft to be his. _Did I get laid last night? I don’t even remember going to a bar._ His head hurts like a bitch. _How wasted did I get?_ Trying to open his eyes he realizes they’re crusted shut. Getting them open doesn’t help orient him. The room he’s in is pitch black, and he can’t make out a light source. Preparing to sit up, hoping that a different vantage point might help, he slowly levers himself up from the mattress. His head protests violently the moment it lifts from his pillow, making it feel like spikes were pushing against his brain. Fighting through it, he gets as far as shifting his shoulders before the entirety of his abdomen flares up in ribbons of pain.

His head falls back onto his pillow with a soft thump, leaving him dazed. Gently running his hands up his torso, he encounters swaths of precisely wrapped bandages covering the tender flesh. He could feel the even pattern and knew that he would be unable to recreate it, even sober. Someone had decided to take care of him, and they obviously knew what they were doing.

Moving his hands further up, he feels something pull at his arm. Feeling it out, it was a plastic tube ending at a patch stuck to him. _Who the fuck has an IV at home?_ He finds gauze swaddling his head, but most of him is clear. He was still clothed, though he couldn’t tell if it was what he’d been wearing or not. _How long have I been out?_

There was no one he could think of that would do this for him, and he had no idea what he might have promised to a stranger in exchange for help. Still reeling from what must be a monster of a hangover, he could assume he came from a bar brawl. If he’d traded something for help at a bar, it was almost guaranteed to be his body.

With the state he was in, he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to deliver on that. Even a blowjob would most likely be an agonizing experience, and he was more likely to throw up during it than he was comfortable with. At most he could probably pull a hand job, but given the quality of the dressing, and the IV stuck in his arm, just jerking the guy off wasn’t gonna cut it.

Now braced for the state of his body, his second try at sitting up was more successful. Shifting backwards he soon found the headboard and rested against it. He’d like to get up, but he had no idea what was in the room, let alone what was outside it. He would have to do some recon, but that could wait until his head wasn’t spinning.

He sits for a while, and he’s starting to contemplate lying down again, before anything happens. There’s a light tapping on the door, and before he has a chance to answer the handle is pushed down. A man steps in. He’s lit from behind, and Dean can’t make out more than that he’s tall, and that he’s carrying something in front of him.

“You’re awake?” He shifts the thing he’s carrying, a tray with something on it, onto one hand, and presses a light switch on the wall. The lights slowly brighten, and he stops them before they get too bright. They’re just past too dark to see, and Dean’s grateful he won’t have to squint through full brightness.

He can see more of the room now, but there’s very little to see. The walls are bare, and a pale grey, and it’s only furnished with the bare essentials. There’s a dresser towards the wall to his left, and bed he’s on, both in the same muted colour scheme.

“…-a,” his voice fails. It hurt to speak, but he needed to. Attempting to clear his throat, he tried again. “Yea.” The man nodded at him, seemingly satisfied with his response. “You have been out for a while; do you remember what happened?” He moved closer, and now Dean could make out more of him.

He had wavy dark brown hair, longer than seemed practical, and a slightly stubbled chin. He’s older than what Dean usually went for, but very solidly in the “attractive” camp. 

Still feeling his headache, but without the actual memories, he made his best guess. “I got in a bar fight, you helped me out.” Dean looked down at his lap, for the first time seeing the splint on his left arm. “Thanks for that by the way,” he mumbled, shifting his hand to see how much movement he still had.

Looking up again, the man’s face was unreadable. “If you get this hurt in bar fights, I hope for your own sake that you are not making a habit of them,” he sighed. Putting down the tray, he lent against the wall. “I found you laying in an alley by the supermarket, you were drifting in and out of consciousness.” He had a course voice, like he didn’t make a habit of talking, but did make a habit of smoking. “If I hadn’t found you, you would probably be dead by now.” His tone was serious, but his expression gentle. Looking down, Dean saw that the tray held a few rolls of bandages and a squashed plastic bottle.

“-ight have some lasting damage, I wasn’t able to check while you were out.” Castiel’s voice cuts through the haze in his head.

“Sorry what’d you say?”

“Depending on how hard you were hit, and where, you might have some lasting damage. I don’t have the equipment to properly check, and you seemed opposed to a hospital, so we will have to do some checks now that you’re awake,” he repeated, frowning a bit. “If you want me to take it slower or to explain something more in depth, just tell me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I just spaced out a bit,” Dean mumbled, feeling sheepish. _Here this guy is, taking the time to help me, and I space out staring at nothing. Real good work Dean._ “What’re we doing?”

“It is worrying that you do not seem to remember…” he walked up to the bed and crouched down. “I’m Castiel Novak,” he said in a more gentle tone.

“I don’t remember, what’d I promise you in exchange for the help?” Dean asks, praying that he’ll be able to postpone payment. “I don’t think I’m physically able to do anything right now, so I’ll get out of your hair. If you give me your number we can meet up later, and I can make up for the inconvenience.” Dean wasn’t vehemently against the prospective payment, he couldn’t deny that Castiel seemed way better than some of the other people he’d had to bed, but he’d prefer not to at the moment.

“You’re in no shape to leave right now,” Castiel says, voice firm but pleasant.

“Well, I’ve gotta go, so that might be an issue.” Even saying that, Dean could feel that standing up would be a pain and a half. But he couldn’t leave Sam for any longer than he already had.

“If you need to.” Castiel stood for a moment and reached along the wall and tapped the light switch.

The ceiling lamp immediately flared to full brightness.

Dean flinched down, attempting to cover his eyes, but only getting one hand up, the other one stuck in his IV tube.

“I was going to check your bandages anyways, but if you’re planning on leaving I need to replace them.”

Still squinting against the light, Dean nodded. “It doesn’t really hurt, so I don’t think it’s too bad.”

“It would not have been worse if you had been hit by a car,” Castiel mutters, but he picks up the tray from the floor and puts it down next to Dean on the bed.

He reached first for Dean’s head, and carefully started unwinding the bandage. It felt kind of nice to have someone’s hands in his hair. The bandages fall away and leave him feeling cold, which is heightened by the soft press of wet fabric to the back of his head. It brings with it the sharp sting of antiseptic.

Castiel gently grabs Dean’s chin and tilts his head to the side before running the cloth across his temple and cheekbone. The contact is soothing, and Dean has his face pressed into Castiel’s hand before rational thought kicks in again.

“Am I drugged?”

It’s accusatory, but he feels justified in his distrust. Castiel keeps up the soft scrubbing while answering. “Just a bit. You are too hurt to get by without it.”

He should be scared, he should be _terrified,_ but the gentle touch, so unlike what he’s used to, exacerbates the fog in his head, and he finds himself powerless to argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm basing the look of Cas in this on how Misha looks as Alexis Drazen, as Misha is roughly 30 while playing that role, and that's the age I'm aiming for with Castiel.   
> I'm also pretending to know medical stuff, so if I get something wrong please correct me.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel pulls Dean’s arm over his shoulder and heaves them both up from the bed. Dean is slightly shorter, but Castiel makes it an easy move, casual.

They shuffle out of the room, and he’s set down at a table. Dean slumps down over the wooden surface, putting his head on his arms. He shuffles around until his arms block out the light from the kitchen window.

“Do you go to bars often? You look quite a bit too young for that,” Castiel pries, moving about the room. Dean doesn’t answer, sinking down into to the sound of cabinets opening and closing around him. It takes until he hears a pan sizzling on the stove that he feels a need to answer.

“What are you, a cop?” he says down into the top of the table.

“Nothing of the sort Dean. But it is worrisome that you make that kind of habit while young.”

Dean hears him move away from the pan again, slamming another cupboard before moving back to the pan.

Peering up over his arm, Dean looks at the man at the stove. “I’m not that young. I’m seventeen.”

Castiel stills for a moment, but the violent sizzling of the food in the pan quickly prompts him back into motion. “Why would you be let into a bar in the first place then?”

“I’m very charming,” Dean says, affecting a flirtatious tone. It would probably have closer to its intended effect if he wasn’t currently sprawled over a table, with bruises and swelling covering his face, but Dean took what he could get.

“I am sure you are.”

Castiel puts down a plate in front of him, and Dean notices how hungry he is. “How long was I out?” he says between bites of egg.

“Almost two days. Today is Tuesday.” Castiel answers in a calm tone.

It takes a moment for the information to register.

“What the _fuck_!”

He accidentally inhales a chunk of egg and folds in two trying to cough it up. Castiel is immediately beside him, hitting him on the back to help out. Once he’s able to breathe again, Dean gasps out “I’ve gotta go. Stuff to do, ya know?”

The incredulous look Castiel gives him makes him feel like he just suggested something absurd. He gently puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders, and squeezes. “You are in no shape to do anything.”

“I need to get to work.” Dean pushes himself up against the table. “I already missed yesterday,” his voice is tight, “If I miss today too I’ll get fired for sure.”

Castiel pushes down on Dean’s shoulders until he sits back down. He moves his hands down Dean’s arms, crouching in front of him, and once he has Dean’s hands covered by his own, larger ones, he speaks.

“Are you aware of your lapses in speech?”

“My… what?”

“You freeze sometimes. I assumed you were having difficulty finding your words,” he tilts his head in thought. “I now see I was mistaken.”

“So you’re saying I’ve got brain damage?” Dean looks down at his lap, scrunching up his nose. A sting of pain radiates through his face with the movement. “I feel fine though, I’m just a bit fuzzy from the drugs.” He hasn’t noticed freezing up.

“Not all damage is readily visible. I would need to run some tests, but that requires us to go to the hospital.” He squeezes Dean’s hands before letting go, getting to his feet and moving back to the stove.

Dean feels the bile rising in his throat, deeply regretting the food he’d just eaten.

“You said that you preferred not to go to a medical facility, but I implore you to reconsider.”

He can’t though. It isn’t his choice to make, and he knows that John would be furious if he wasted money on hospital-visits he didn’t need.

“Please don’t make me,” he squeezes out, knowing that in his injured state he wouldn’t be able to stop the other man, if he decided that Dean’s opinion wasn’t important.

Castiel shows no outward sign of hearing him, busying himself with cleaning up the pan. Before long it’s in the drying rack, and he sits down in the seat across from Dean.

“It is your call.” He sighs. “I will not force you, but I do want you to get help.”

“Yeah, well, the best help I can get at the moment is being allowed to get to work so that I can keep my job.” Dean’s face is set, voice steady, but there’s a tremble in his lips.

It’s hard for Castiel to deny him the chance, but Dean is visibly struggling with holding up a conversation, and letting him free to run about would no doubt just leave him more hurt.

“I cannot in good conscience allow you to exacerbate your injuries doing that.”

“I don’t have an option here, do I?” He pushes up off the chair, slamming his hands on the table. Almost immediately his vision fade at the edges, and he has to put his weight on his hands to keep from falling. The added pressure on his left wrist shoots spikes of pain up his arm, and only the sudden presence of an arm around him keeps him standing.

“I would advise you to be more careful.”

Castiel gently sets him back down, arm a steady weight along his back.

“The most appropriate course of action from here would be informing your employer that you are unable to work at the present due to health reasons,” he instructs, pulling away enough to once again hold Dean’s shoulder. His hand rests there while he pulls out a phone from his pocket.

“You did not have one with you when I found you, but you may borrow mine.” He sets the phone on the table, once again moving away and leaving Dean to his own devices. Dean needed a moment to centre himself, calming the panic brought about by his episode and ordering his thoughts.

He knew that, even if he called in sick, he risked losing his job. Castiel offered him his phone, but for how long? His job was important, but right now it was a lost cause, so he’d take the opportunity to call Sam. He must be worried at this point. Dean made a habit of sleeping around, but he always made sure to take care of his little brother, and leaving him for two days was definitely not taking care of him.

Dialling the number he knew by heart, he sank back into his chair, cradling his still stinging wrist to his chest. The phone rang out, and he felt anxiety creeping up his spine. _Why isn’t he answering? Had something happened to him?_

He’s about to call again when he sees the current time shining up at him from the phone screen.

10:27

Sam is in school. He’s safe. He isn’t answering because he’s a nerd, not because he’s hurt.

Still alone in the kitchen, Dean makes a second call. It’s picked up after just a few seconds.

“Hey Bobby, sorry I missed work.” He notices himself that he sounds tired, words blurring at the edges and feeling flat.

_“Dean! Are you okay kid?”_ He sounds out of breath, and Dean can hear machinery whirring in the background. It’s most likely too busy for Bobby to talk to him right now.

“I’m fine, got a bit sick, couldn’t call yesterday, will most likely miss tomorrow too.” The lie feels bad in his mouth. He can’t tell Bobby what’s happening, he’d want answers, and Dean doesn’t have those.

_“You sound exhausted. I’ll let it go this time, but don’t do it again.”_ He sounds harried, and someone shouts his name in the background.

“Yes sir.”

“ _I’ve got to go. Take care of yourself and call Sam. He’s worried.”_

The line goes dead, leaving Dean in the ringing silence of an empty room in a house of someone he doesn’t know.

He feels spent, and his ribs sting with every inhale, but the fog in his head has faded dramatically. His mouth feels dry. There’s a pitcher of water on the table, but no glasses. He could wait for Castiel to get back, or he could man up and search through the cabinets.

How could he expect to get home if he couldn’t even get up?

He uses the table as a crutch, supporting more of his weight on it than he’s comfortable with. He moves around it, leaning against the edge on the side towards the counters. The distance between them is barely six feet, but Dean’s legs are starting to shake.

The first step after letting go is fine. The second has his knees staring to buckle. On the third, he topples forward, just barely catching himself on the counter before going down.

His energy reserves, already low, are flagging. He’s breathing heavy, aggravating his broken ribs and forcing him to fold over. Everything hurts. Trying to straighten out sends lances of pain through his back. He collapses to his knees and is leaft gasping on the ground.

Castiel is crouched next to him, and Dean has no idea how he got there.

“What are you doing?”

It isn’t accusatory. The tone is one of genuine confusion, like Castiel is unable to fathom how Dean could end up where he is, why someone would do that. Dean still can’t stop himself from flinching.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, and he’s unsure how to explain his failure to other man without proving himself weak.

“What? You’re too good for floor naps?” He regrets it even before the words leave his mouth, but he’s helpless to stop them, looking on in horror as he spits out words meant to provoke _._

The man towering over him only looks more confused. “Do you need help up?”

Biting back his instinctive denial, Dean realizes that, unless he wants to spend a while on the floor, he does need help. Castiel has already seen him at his worst. It shouldn’t be a problem getting helped up. But looking up into the concerned face of the man above him, he can’t help the heat working its way up his neck and onto his face. “No.”

Castiel leans down, curly hair falling around his face and casting odd shadows over it. He squints down at Dean’s prone form, eyes flickering up and down his body.

Dean’s already flushed face heats further under the scrutiny. He’s about to snap at Castiel, when he seems to come to a decision.

“You do.” And with that, Castiel shimmies his arm under Dean’s shoulders. He wraps the other around his waist, lifting him from the floor before Dean has a chance to protest. The sudden movement puts him off balance, and his legs scrabble for purchase under him.

His arms wrap around Castiel’s shoulders, trying to steady himself.

Finally getting his feet back under himself, Dean collapses against Castiel’s chest, too tired to balance on his own. He is once again breathing heavily, and without the gentle pressure of arms around him he would collapse.

Dean wants to protest. “I’m fine.” It’s grumbled into Castiel’s chest, so the authority of it is marginally diminished.

He tries to push away, but is too weak to do more than press his palms to Castiel’s front. Looking up, he locks eyes with his human crutch, far too close for comfort.

“What is the matter Dean?”

Castiel seems as comfortable as ever, studying Deans face with a sharp gaze. Up close, he can see the other man’s eyes, and he’s momentarily entranced by the clear blue of them.

“You do not think you deserve to be helped?”

The accusation stings, tearing open scabs in Dean’s soul he’d thought long healed. That a man who’d known him for less than a day could read him so well terrified him. Something must have shown on his face, because those blue eyes soften, leaving tender look on his face.

Castiel tilts his head to the side slightly, and then shifts Dean over to the left. He pulls Dean’s arm back over his shoulder, and half supports half drags him back to the bedroom he woke up in.

Dean feels the need to put up a token protest, but even that is too much effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: "I'm going to update once a week"  
> Also me: *falls over into the swamp of unfinished school work i have*
> 
> So yeah that's my life. I'm still stuck doing schoolwork and I'm typing this during a programming lesson. If anyone knows how to do a lab report for biology please tell me.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to preface this with saying that I'm not from the US, and i have no idea how things actually work over there. If I could, I'd move the whole thing to a country I know, but that would make the plot incapable of happening. With that in mind, I'll mention that my country has the age of consent at 15, which will most likely flavor the way i write this relationship, but I won't write anything even slightly graphic if a character involved is under 18, because I agree that that SHOULD be the age of consent.
> 
> This is my first attempt at a longer story, and I appreciate any feedback.


End file.
